THE SONIC BOOMER
I know Christmas is almost here because I am officially out of cash. My liquid assets have run downhill, pooled into a puddle and evaporated. It’s time to break out the credit cards. This turning point in the holiday season signals that I am having fun. Because fun costs money, despite that old adage that “the best things in life are free.” Believe me, they aren’t.
To my mind, the best thing in life is good health, and it costs a fortune to stay in good health. If you’re not buying vitamins or prescription medication, you’re taking part in expensive daily activities — gym, tennis, golf, spa — to keep yourself healthy. In fact, Amazon offers many books about “The Best Things in Life,” and they cost between $13 and $35 each. Not free.
But I’m off the Nordic track.
Despite the expense, I am having a wonderful yuletide. I love everything about the holidays and, yes, I am willing to pay for it. I start buying gifts Dec. 26 of the previous year. This continues through every shopping mall, mom-and-pop shop, estate sale and auction I go to for the next 12 months. If I see something that is perfect for somebody, I buy it and tuck it away in a closet. Then I forget I have it, so I buy them something else.
When the closets are full, I start wrapping. Wrapping is a challenge because I have to find the right box. I have an immense box collection, but the boxes never match the presents. And once everything is boxed and wrapped, all those boxes have to be put into mailing boxes. And brought to the post office or FedEx or UPS — either way, there’s going to be a line. (Of course, you can print out your own labels and mail things from home, but what kind of holiday tradition is that?)
After I’m done huffing and puffing about mailing the presents, I start in on the cards. Being a writer, I can never shut up. I have to find cards with the perfect sentiment for each family, then write a more personal note on the bottom. Then I tuck in my family newsletter, which is two solid pages of blah-blah-blah about what we have done all year. This matters to no one but me, but it has become a habit after 25 years. Relatives who no longer remember what I look like read my name tag at family reunions and are completely up-to-date on my life. (“You’re little Debbie Welky? Well, of course you are! Loved the wallpaper you put up in the den!”)
Then it’s back to the post office, since I am a glutton for punishment.
I try to bake a little. I make everything from scratch, don’t ask me why. Because that’s the way mom does it, I guess. I can take a perfectly clean kitchen and convert it to a flurry of flour, eggs and butter in 10 minutes flat. Then I start baking.
There are certain Christmas cookies I like, and the kind you crank out onto the cookie sheet from a tube ranks very high. The spritz cookies I make are almond-flavored and practically rolled in colored sugar before baking. They’re delicious, and even though they aren’t very large cookies, if you cram two or three of them into your mouth at once, the effect is the same.
After all the shopping and writing and baking is done, it’s time to put up the tree. But, just like any typical December day, I’ve run out of time. I’ll do it next week. In the meantime, it’s time for more cookies.
